


It's Not All Whips and Chains

by fleshcircuits



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Affection, Aftercare, Alternate Universe, And anxiety, Dave has EDS, Disabled Character, Dom John, Dom/sub, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Kneeling, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sub Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleshcircuits/pseuds/fleshcircuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your mind is constantly buzzing with jumbled anxieties and mostly self-depreciating thoughts, it is a relief to allow your mind to rest. When you are around John you can submit, allow him to take complete and utter control over you-- this is when you feel truly, utterly, safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not All Whips and Chains

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted anything in ages. Sorry about that. But now I'm bed bound after an operation so. Have some porn. Love me again. 3
> 
> There might be more added on as and when I fancy but hey ho.

When your mind is constantly buzzing with jumbled anxieties and mostly self-depreciating thoughts, it is a relief to allow your mind to rest. When you are around John you can submit, allow him to take complete and utter control over you-- this is when you feel truly, utterly, safe.

Any partnership has obstacles to over come and your relationship is obviously not considered... well, "typical". You began as friends, as many people do, total bros until you began to feel a shift in the dynamic, away from platonic to something else entirely. John had been spoilt, and he would be the first to admit that, so he had a tendency to be bossy whether he was aware of it or not. So whenever he would bluntly demand you to grab him a soda or whatever, you did not do what a normal dude friend would do-- which would be telling him to go fuck his lazy ass self. Nope, instead you would drop whatever you were doing and scurry off like you were his goddamn valet, watching eagerly as he cracked open the can and took his first sip.

And when he would smile and thank you, his approval was like calming endorphins being released in your mind. His happiness-- no, the warm, gooey feeling you got from serving him was unnerving, but not unwelcome.

John later admitted that he too was aware of the tension, for lack of a better word. He began to keep his arm tighter around your shoulders, insisting that when you both ate out that it was his treat and fussing over whether you were appropriately dressed for the chilly New York winter.

You ended up moving in together, still totally just as friends whilst continuing this strange equally dependant thing you had going on. It worried you as much as it brought you happiness. You wanted more so desperately and yet you knew that taking things to the next level would involve talking it out-- attempting to straighten out over a years worth of this puesdo dom-sub situation.

All it took in the end was a hairline trigger.

You don't cook. You lived off takeaways and junk food before you moved in with John who insisted on fixing up your cruddy diet with the excuse that it couldn't be good for your EDS. In exchange you did pre, chopping up the veg, boiling the water and all that. You were chopping up a tomato, humming and tapping your foot as you worked, when the blade slipped and cut into the tip of your finger.

"Fuck," you exclaim, grasping at your hand as blood oozed from the small cut. It was not a very deep cut, but you bleed like a prey animal thanks to your shitty health.

John was at your side in an instant, practically carrying you to the bathroom. He placed you down on the edge of the bath with your finger poised under the cold water tap. 

“Stay there,” he said-- no, it was more of a command –as he rummaged through the cabinet for plasters. 

“It's not that bad, dude,” you try to protest. 

He turned as gives you a cold look, a look you now know to mean “don't argue with me, I know best”. You shrunk back a little, not out of fear but of compliance. 

John dabbed at your finger with a fluffy hand towel. Then he knelled in front of you to swiftly bandage it up before the flow of crimson started up again. 

“You need to be more careful, Dave.” He said, with a tight grip on the wrist of your wounded hand.

You sensed a sadness, a disappointment, but not directed towards you, and you understand when his hand lingers on your arm longer than is necessary. He was not angry with you for an accident, that would be unreasonable-- he was angry at himself for allowing it to happen. 

You clenched your other hand, shaking with nerves as you test the boundaries, 

“Sorry. I'll be more careful,” You said, low and humble as you bow your head. “Thank you for taking care of me, s-- s--...” You stuttered, wanting to add on a title, a sign of your respect and your gratitude, but you restrained yourself and continued, “You... you do take care of me, y'know. And... and I appreciate it. A lot.”

And you so desperately wanted to show him; to open yourself up entirely to him, leave yourself vulnerable and under his complete and caring control. He had already touched your mind, skimmed those pianist fingertips along the edges of your fantasies, and know you wanted him to delve further, learning the sharp edges of your fears and the deviants curves of your darkest desires. 

You fell silent then, as if awaiting his judgement. The harsh grip on your wrist loosened, and his hand moved to cradle the side of your head in his palm. He tilted your head up so he could meet your eyes. He was not smiling, but he stroked your pale skin with the pad of his thumb ever so slightly. 

“You don't have to apologize, Dave. You didn't do anything wrong.”

You gulped, “I just... don't think I really tell you how much I... I appreciate you. And stuff.”

You mentally scolded yourself for such a clumsy remark, reverting your gaze downward. But then John took you by surprise, as he so often does, by leaning closer to you so the bridge of his nose leant against your own-- not for a kiss, as things tend to go down in all those movies he watches, but to whisper, to breathe the words you longed to hear over your trembling lips,

“I know.”

The intimacy of the moment was too much for you and you felt a single wet drop slide down your cheek, over his tanned fingertip. He took you by the shoulders then, pulling you into a gentle hug as you sniffled and he whispered his reassures that he felt very much the same way. 

Although your confession was thankfully mutually explanatory, a relationship like yours requires discussion, to specify both of your needs and boundaries. It was not a process that could be accomplished by a singular conversation, but the evening continued with him probing your insecurities and coaxing you to tell him what, exactly, you needed from him. 

People assume kinky relationships are all about hurt, about physical dominance and pain. Some people sure are into that, but not you. You wanted to be looked after, to be guided, to submit yourself to him entirely. You knew that you could trust him to take complete control without abusing the power you would surrender to him. 

He may have been your dominant, but it took some time for him to become your Master. It took time for him to learn more of your idiosyncrasies, to read the more subtle gestures of your body language. On the flip side, you discussed that you needed to be trained to leave your mess of a mind behind and enter your subspace; not to think, not to worry, to only obey and be cared for. You did not have sex right away, or even sleep together. John made it clear that you were going to take things slow, let it develop and, playfully implied, that such privileges would have to be earned. However he was quite generous with the kisses, which was fine by you. 

Your training began when you had a day off from work. He woke you earlier than usual, dressed and ready to attend his morning lecture. Sleepy but curious, you followed him into the hallway.

“I have class 'til eleven,” he announced, as if this was news to you, “So you are going to wait on me coming home.”

“I normally do...” You yawned, to which he laughed and shook his head.

“Not like this.” He tone dropped from jokey, as if this was a matter of utmost seriousness. “Get on your knees, Dave.”

And you obeyed, just like that, your knees pressing uncomfortably against the cheap carpet. Because you would do anything for this man. You looked up to him, eyes wide and pleading silently. He laughed at you again.

“You need to do better than that if you want praise.” He snapped, walking around you briskly and tapping the inside of your leg with his foot. “Spread them, lean back and sit on your ass.”

You shifted obediently, finding the position more comfortable than how you would have naturally knelt, other than the hard floor pressing against you. John bends down at the knees, still making sure he has height advantage, and tucks your hands together in front of you. Then he retrieved a long strip of fabric from the front pocket of his hoodie, wrapping it around your head and obscuring your vision. You had been blindfolded and yet, you did not want to object. You wanted to learn for him. 

“See you later.”

It was a brisk goodbye, punctuated by the door clicking shut only a few metres in front of you. You had no idea what time it was, how long it would be before he returned. You were entirely alone with your thoughts which, ironically, was the part of you you needed to escape from. 

You spent some time putting together some sick rhymes in your head. When you grew weary of that you began to mentally recite mathematical equations and recent figures from the spreadsheet you'd had to write up. You shifted slightly as you began to feel restless then felt guilty, as if you had disobeyed your partner. You so desperately wanted to please, to have him be proud of you, to praise you and love you. 

It was then it occurred to you that, rather than try to busy your thoughts with your usual mental ramblings, you should be focusing-- no, occupy your mind with John, empty yourself until he returned because without him there, you could do nothing. In that moment, you were only there at his command, to wait on his return. Work and hobbies did not matter. 

You would liken it to meditation in the future because by removing yourself from your usual reality, you had achieved brief peace. That morning you had experienced the calm sensation of subspace properly for the first time. 

Unburdened and blissfully empty, you only regained your awareness when the door opened again hours later. John brought you back slowly, with a gentle pet on the head, a hand sliding down your face and coaxing your chin upward whilst his other hand undid your blindfold. You blinked up to him gaze blurred but filled with adoration none the less. 

You did not speak, however, because you felt it wasn't your place in that moment. He offered his other hand to you, which you leant into, silently welcoming him home.

“You did so well,” he said quietly, making your chest swell with pride. “How are you feeling?”

With his gentle permission to speak, you responded, “Relaxed. Like...” you draw in a long breath, “Really relaxed.”

John smiled. “Good. That's what this was for, you know.”

“Thank you,” you said, “for... for thinking of me, for knowing what I need.”

You leant into him, the side of your head pushed against his thigh as he pet you idly. It was apparent that he was thinking, however it was not your place to question him or provide any unnecessary input. After a few blissful, thoughtless moments he gripped your hair gently and tipped your head back. 

“I need something from you now, Dave.” His free hand deliberately toyed with the button of his jeans, giving you an unspoken opportunity to back out. You gazed up at him through your eyelashes and parted your lips obediently-- even though you clench your hands nervously in your lap. You had never done this before. He knew that, thanks to your talks as equals, so you could trust him to know your boundaries.

And you knew that you wanted this, that you had never craved a connection more than in that moment.

You cast your half lidded gaze downward as you heard the metallic scrape of his zipper. His grip on your fine blond hair did not falter as he brought out his cock; thicker and bigger then your own and cut, also unlike yours. He was only slightly hard, but he guided your head closer, so you could smell the musk of his skin. He did not push you any further momentarily allowing you to adjust to the situation or to tap out, if you needed to.

Lacking in experience meant you only had instinct to go on. You nuzzled the base of his dick with the bridge of your nose, then moved to press quick, chaste kisses over what you could reach of the underside. John had sighed and patted the back of your head encouragingly, quietly praising you under his breath. With his praise spurring you on you tentatively begin to lick him-- starting out with quick flicks with the tip, but it was not long before you were dragging your tongue down his hardening length in wet, eager laps.

After coaxing him to hardness he gripped the base of his dick, tapping the head against your damp and swollen lower lip. 

“Suck.”

You were more than happy to obey his command, taking the tip of his dick only slightly in to your mouth and sucking slightly. John murmured your praise, encouraging you to alternate your sucking with swirling your tongue around the slit, your saliva mixing with his pre-come, making the most satisfyingly sloppy noises.

“Fuck, Dave...” John gasped, both of his hands gripping at your hair now, as his voice regained its commanding edge, “Enough playing around. Suck. Properly.” 

You did not mean for a pitiful whine to escape your throat, but it earned you a light tap on the head to remind you who was in charge. So you take as much of him as you can into your mouth, knowing he wouldn't give more than you could take. By licking his shaft you had already made his dick wet enough to slide smoothly in and out of your mouth, so you bob your head back and forth, trying to find a pace that your dominant approved of. 

“Good boy,” he whispered, just for you to hear, “Mm, yeah, you're doing so well, Dave. F-- fuck...”

John's hips began to move, steadily taking control over the rhythm. His firm hold forced you to remain open and receiving whilst his hips moved rhythmically, his cock throbbing against your tongue as his climax drew near. You let him use your mouth, your eyelids drooping shut as you felt the tip of his dick slide across your palette, lost in being filled, being loved, being his. 

Then he pulled out of your mouth abruptly, leaving you empty. You looked up at him imploringly for an explanation; he was flushed, beads of sweat gathering on his brow, but he looks down on you with a firm gaze that re-established his unwavering control. 

“I'm close,” he said simply, his grip on the base of his cock the only thing preventing him from coating your lips right at that moment, “Lie down. Hands behind your back.”

You eased yourself down so you were lying with your bare back flat against the hard floor. He kicked your legs open so he could stand between them, ignoring your erection begging for his touch just inches away from his foot.

“Look at me, Dave.”

Holding your neck up at this ankle aches, but you obey, watching with keen, desperate eyes as John slides his hand over his own cock, pumping it with quick, eager movements. You catch the vein of his cock throb just before he orgasms, and you bit down hard enough on your lip to taste blood. He came over you; coating your stomach, your torso, your face, even your hair. He had marked you then, almost every single part of you, as his.

The back of your head hit the floor with a prominent clunk as you panted and writhed below him. He hasn't even touched you and yet you had came completely and utterly undone before him. Your eyes flutter shut as your become aware of the hot come clinging to your skin, of the achingly warm swell of your lips, the salty taste that lingered on your tongue and, lastly, the painful need of your erection pressed against your tight boxer shorts. It's over-whelming-- too over-whelming, and you have no idea what to do-- you needed him to guide you--.

Before you could begin to fret John was behind you, hoisting you up gently by your underarms. He guided you back into your kneeling position although you are a lot limper than earlier and he supported you by pressing himself against your back. He reached around your chest, dragging the pad of his thumb against your collar bone then down your torso, spreading his come across your pale skin, until he reached your waistband. He tugged them down, just enough to bring your cock out, and wasted no time in wrapping his hand around it. You shuddered with pleasure. 

He breathed into your ear, “Come for me, Dave. You've been so good. You've earned this.”

You let out a quiet whine, coming right there on command before he could even flick his wrist. If he was surprised he did not show it, even as he milked your dick for all it was worth. When you are spent you flop back against his soft chest.

He wiped your own come over your stomach, mixing your fluid with his. He took your jaw in hand and guided you round to kiss him, slowly, lovingly, as you felt a streak of warm wet upon your cheek.

“You're crying,” he muttered, drawing back in concern, but you flung your arms around him to keep him there.

“Yeah,” you said, scrubbing at your cheek with the back of your hand, “Just... over-whelmed. But happy.” A pause. “Thank you.”

“Uh, for what?”

“For being exactly what I need.”


End file.
